So glad you found your way to this little corner of the internet. My queerly beloved person, friend, family member—dear fellow community member—welcome.
Healing from religious trauma as a queer person is an extraordinary act of self-love and courage. If you are here, reading this, I imagine you are somewhere along that journey—whether just beginning to question and unpack your experiences or deep in the process of examining beliefs, exploring what does and doesn't work for you. Wherever you are, know that you are not alone.
The Weight of Religious Trauma for Queer Individuals
I write this with a particular audience in mind: those of you who grew up hiding their queerness, the late bloomers finally stepping into their truth, the individuals in mixed-orientation marriages navigating complex identities. Those who have had to mask their authenticity—to themselves, their families, their communities—just to survive, to get to safety.
Once safety is found, even tenuously, the real work begins. Deconstructing internalized shame, untangling fear from faith, making sense of what remains, and figuring out what healing can look like. It is earth-shattering. It is shocking. It is revolutionary. It is invigorating. And it is deeply, soulfully painful. (And if the word 'soulfully' feels uneasy, let’s call it profoundly painful.)
The Reality of Religious Trauma
My queerly beloved reader, I want you to know this: your experiences are real.
If you grew up in a religious environment that demonized, weaponized, or penalized your queerness—if you were threatened with eternal damnation for simply being yourself—that is violence. That is trauma. And it leaves a lasting impact, one that is not just in your mind but in your nervous system, your relationships, your sense of self.
One of the most insidious effects of religious trauma is internalized gaslighting—that voice in your head whispering, Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.
Let me say this clearly: you are not being dramatic.
Healing Through an ACT Lens
In Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), we approach self-critical thoughts with acceptance and compassion. That internal voice telling you that your pain isn’t valid? It makes sense for it to be there—it’s a learned response, shaped by fear and survival.
And speaking of survival, let’s talk about anger. Rage is a valid, healthy, and appropriate response to trauma. If you feel furious about what was done to you, about the years lost, about the fear that still lingers—that is good information. That anger is a sign that what happened to you is inconsistent with your personal values, and your body knows it.
Affirmations for Healing
As you navigate your healing journey, here are five affirmations to help anchor you in self-compassion and self-trust:
My queerness is not a flaw; it is a gift.
I am allowed to grieve what I lost and celebrate what I’ve reclaimed.
My anger is a signal that I deserved better—I honor that truth.
I do not have to justify my healing to anyone.
I am worthy of love, safety, and belonging, exactly as I am.
I don't offer these because I expect you to believe them. Rather, because self-kindness is a practice. You can treat yourself with kindness, just as you can with cruelty, and I offer these words as a way to practice.
Moving Forward
Healing from religious trauma as a queer person is not linear, and it is not easy. But it is possible.
At Divergent Path Wellness, we offer queer-affirming, neurodivergent-informed therapy for individuals working through religious trauma. We use an ACT approach to help clients untangle self-judgment, reconnect with their values, and build a life of authenticity and self-compassion. If you are seeking support, you don’t have to do this alone—we are here to walk alongside you.
You are not broken. You are not beyond repair. You are becoming.
Hannah Dickey LMSW
Supervisee in social work
Psychotherapist at Divergent Path Wellness
If this post resonated with you, we invite you to explore our services at Divergent Path Wellness.
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